


Hands Twist and Turn

by dedougal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 12:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why does Stiles always end up with Derek's arms wrapped around him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands Twist and Turn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dizzzylu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzzylu/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! I hope you have a lovely lovely day, Dizzzylu and know that we appreciate you all year round! Kisses. Umm. Hope you enjoy.

Of course, when Stiles turned around, Derek was asleep on his bed. He contemplated kicking him awake – violence begets violence after all – but Derek looked, for once, peaceful. Relaxed. The tightness that seemed as much part of him as his bushy, expressive eyebrows seemed to have eased. He wasn’t even snoring. 

Stiles was just about to turn back to his computer when he took in one, last, fatal piece of observation. Damn his eyes. Derek wasn’t just asleep. Oh no. Derek was curled up around one of Stiles’s hoodies. There was no two ways about it. Derek had his big (broad, muscular) hands wrapped tight in the burgundy hoodie, holding it close against his chest, his cheek resting on the material of the hood. Stiles watched the gentle rise and fall of Derek’s chest. He let his eyes trace down Derek’s spine, over the curve of his ass. It was… When Stiles’s eyes returned to Derek’s face, he realised Derek was no longer asleep. His eyes were open, fixed on Stiles.

Stiles was lost for words. It was as if some silent connection had snapped into place on this slow, rainy Sunday afternoon. His room was dull as always, messy. There was nothing special about today. Nothing had happened that morning to make Stiles realise that today was the day his life was going to change. He might have dressed better, for one thing.

Stiles finally managed to look away when Derek blinked. “Hey, sleeping beauty. Want to come check this?” His voice sounded strange, from the end of a tunnel or like he was in an airplane and his ears hadn’t popped yet.

Derek shifted off the bed and came to stand behind Stiles. He laid his hand on Stiles’s shoulder, leaned in. Derek had done that a hundred times but this time, oh yes, this time, Stiles felt him like a line of heat against his skin. Derek was all over him, surrounding him. His dick valiantly thickened as Stiles fought the urge to lean back, to press as much of himself against Derek as he could. Instead he took Derek through his research, flicking between tabs as quickly as possible. He tried to ignore the fact Derek didn’t remove his hand.

 

Stiles was freezing. Like, beyond cold. He’d been to Canada. He knew what cold was. This was insane. He felt another shiver wrack him, making his teeth chatter uncontrollably. Derek was standing looking up through the roof of the cave they’d fallen through. He wasn’t even shaking a little.

“It’s getting colder,” Stiles bit out, between his shivers. Derek turned to look at him. Stiles had gotten wet when they’d crashed through the forest floor and it seemed to be making his feel even colder as if the whole buried under the earth ice box thing wasn’t bad enough. Another violent shake took over him and he let out a soft whuff of pain. It was so cold it hurt. 

Derek settled his feet apart, lifted his head and howled. The sound warmed Stiles a little, the noise thrumming through his veins. Derek tilted his head (so hard not to make dog jokes) and nodded. Then he came close to Stiles. 

Stiles hadn’t forgotten the whole hoodie incident and he knew exactly how warm Derek’s skin felt. He had tried to forget it, tried to ignore the way his imagination had seemed to fixate on that fact when Stiles idly jacked himself until it became less idle and more urgent. He didn’t really think Derek would understand if Stiles started, you know, humping his leg or something. Derek rubbed his hands over Stiles’s shoulders, as if to test the truth of Stiles’s complaints.

“You’re cold.” Derek was frowning in that special way that was between constipated and furious that Stiles liked to mimic to Scott and Isaac.

“Yes, you dumbass. Me, fragile-“ Stiles’s complaints petered out as Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles, pulling him flush against Derek’s (fucking amazing) chest. His face was kinda smushed up against Derek’s neck and the side of his face and Stiles thought about whining but the heat was pretty damn incredible. He hadn’t realised exactly how much of his nose he couldn’t feel until it started tingling and sparking. Stiles held his arms out to the side before slowly letting them settle against Derek.

“Under my shirt,” Derek said, his own hands rubbing up and down Stiles’s back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. “Put your hands under my shirt.”

“They’re cold, dude,” Stiles said, unable to think of any other reason. “Hence why you asked me to- Okay.” Stiles slid his arms under the clinging material, finding the warmth of Derek’s bare skin. It was like putting his hands on a furnace. He splayed his palms out, feeling Derek’s shuddering as everyone of Stiles’s frozen fingers found a special place to heat up. Stiles couldn’t help letting out a slow groan of pleasure as he felt his hands again. He burrowed closer against Derek who didn’t resist. In fact, Derek seemed to be, almost, purring under his breath, soft, low, constant reassurance that he wasn’t going to rip out Stiles’s throat or anything.

They stayed that way, locked together. “Hence is a funny word,” Stiles said, an attempt at a conversation starter. Derek just held him closer.

“I’ll get a rope,” Scott yelled, from the edge of the hole above them. “Don’t worry!”

Stiles was almost sad to step away.

 

Derek touched. He touched Erica, a ruffle over her hair. Isaac, a half-hug, Boyd, a hand on the shoulder. Derek touched people all the time. He started touching Stiles more. A hand on the small of his back to help him over a big root or a fallen trunk. Placing his palm on the back of his neck when Stiles could feel it seizing up after being bent over a book for too long. Holding Stiles’s leg in place when it wanted to jitter and jive all over the place. Derek touched – and Stiles took note of every brush of knuckles, every casual and not so casual brush of Derek’s arms.

Derek touched and Stiles found out he liked to be touched.

 

They were watching some stupid movie. As if their lives weren’t enough of a horror. No, Erica had to shove in some slasher rip off. And it wasn’t that Stiles was scared. He’d seen too much to be scared. Nope. He was just susceptible to the oldest trick in the book: the jump scare. Stiles flailed in his seat, completely spilling the bowl of popcorn all over Erica’s hair and he might even have slid off the sofa if Derek’s arm hadn’t caught him round the shoulders. Which implied Derek’s arm had been lying over the back of the sofa. In that age old, tacky, yawn, arm stretch manoeuvre. 

Stiles leaned back against Derek, laughing at Erica’s dismay, as the arm tightened around him, briefly lingered, before sliding back to lie across the sofa once more.

Now. Stiles had two options. He could deny, deny, deny. That was pretty much his usual course of action. Or he could stay where he was, buried into Derek’s side. In the end, Stiles settled for the mid-ground, leaning in against Derek just enough that it was more than casual. He could hear his heart racing so who knew what the werewolves with the super-hearing surrounding him were hearing. But it didn’t matter. Stiles felt Derek’s arm tense, his muscles cording into iron bands, before he loosened the tension, muscle by muscle, and slid the arm down until it was resting against the back of Stiles’s neck.

It was totally casually, completely explainable and sending pulses of heat and want and need all through Stiles’s body.

Derek bolted when the movie ended though.

 

Stiles was reading in bed when his window rattled. He was only able to make out the glint of eyes and the impression of a bulky shape. The window shook again, with more of a definite knock this time. Stiles sighed.

“The front door is an option,” he muttered, climbing out of bed. He was tempted just to stand behind the glass and wave but in the end he unlocked the window and pushed it up. “Civilized people knock.”

“I knocked,” Derek pointed out. He even looked a little sniffier than usual as he did so. And… well, Stiles guessed he had knocked and not just forced the window up like he usually did.

“So. What’s the emergency?” Stiles shuffled his tired body over to his desk. Coach had been in one of his suicides or death moods and then he’d had homework and Stiles was just worn out.

Derek hesitated. “There’s… There was a leak. At the loft.” Derek looked around. “I remember you saying your dad was on night shift.”

“Yeah.” Stiles wondered what Derek was aiming at. A leak? Water damage? Maybe he wanted Stiles to call a contractor. But it was too late for that. Derek would just… “Oh. You want to sleep here?”

“If you don’t-“ Derek looked supremely uncomfortable. “Can’t really ask Erica or Boyd. Isaac’s foster parents aren’t an option. The house is-“

“Hey. No. Sure.” Stiles looked longingly at his bed. He couldn’t give Derek the guest room – his dad would know someone had slept in there. And he was a good host. “I’ll just grab my sleeping bag.”

“Why?” Derek avoided Stiles’s eyes as he shrugged out of his leather jacket. “Just a blanket. Your bed is big enough, right?”

“Couldn’t tell you,” Stiles muttered as he wandered out into the hallway. This was like a dream. A hallucination. He’d get back into his room and there’d be no Derek, no open window, nothing. “Not like I’ve ever shared with anyone.”

Derek had his jeans unfastened when Stiles came back in. That made Stiles swallow. He fixed his gaze on Derek’s bare feet until he got himself under a modicum of control. But that went out the window when Derek’s jeans slid down over his weirdly perfect toes and he was standing there in a t-shirt and boxers.

Then he took off the t-shirt.

“You want- Uh. Pyjamas? Sweats?” Stiles cast around desperately. He was about to throw the blanket at Derek and run for the sofa. “I’m just-“

“Come to bed, Stiles.” Derek sounded entirely too smug for someone who had to come ask a seventeen-year-old for a place to stay. Not that Stiles begrudged it. He kinda liked it. He liked Derek, something that still surprised him a little, but after all the shit with Gerard and the Alpha Pack, it kinda made sense for him to like Derek. And not just because he was burning hot and liked to touch Stiles and make Stiles want.

Stiles made sure the window was locked before he stretched out on his bed. Turned out it wasn’t entirely big enough. His back was pressed all along Derek’s as they lay, side by side, heads sharing the same pillow.

 

Sometime in the night, Derek had rolled over and wrapped himself around Stiles. That was… Stiles knew he tossed and turned. His sheets normally ended up in a bizarre knot at the end of the bed, trailing over the floor. But sleeping with someone else apparently meant Stiles didn’t move that much, because he woke in pretty much the same position he’d finally fallen asleep in. Derek was the one who’d moved, wrapping his arm octopus tight around Stiles, working his hand up under Stiles’s t-shirt, insinuating his leg in between Stiles. Slotting his morning wood up against Stiles’s ass and rocking his hips…

Stiles could tell exactly when Derek woke up, because the hand holding him in place tightened, briefly, before letting him go.

“Sorry,” Derek said, voice still rough with sleep. Now that – fuck a duck – that was possibly the sexiest thing and Stiles wasn’t even looking at Derek. He was trying to get his own erection to die down. Not happening with a delicious, sleep warm, mostly-naked Derek Hale was plastered all over him. “Shit. That’s your dad. Thanks, Stiles.”

And then Derek was gathering his clothes and sneaking out of the window.

Stiles still hadn’t moved, unable to actually get his brain to break out of the cycle of Derek, shirtless, hugging. The only thing would have been better would have been if he’d been completely naked and so had Stiles and then they could have been screwing like the innocent little bunnies Scott decimated on a full moon.

Okay. Maybe moving beyond like now.

 

It was never okay when Derek got shot. Never, ever. Even with his whole I’m the Alpha now shtick and his superfast werewolf healing, it was still a fucking big hole in his side and whole buckets of blood. Stiles got his shoulder under Derek’s arm, half carrying him to the Jeep. He had a fantastic first aid kit in there and there were tweezers and he’d be able to… stop Derek clawing his side out.

“Almost there. I can do this. There’s a lot of blood.” There was another gunshot behind them as Scott disarmed the hunter with a snarl. There was the low rumble of voices too as, presumably, negotiations started. But Stiles ignored all that as he lowered Derek down to sit against the passenger seat. “Lots of blood.”

“It’s- Wolfsbane.” Derek’s voice was entirely too soft.

“I can see that.” Stiles spilled half the kit onto the seat as he scrambled to find the tweezers. “Okay. I’m going in.” It wasn’t like Stiles was accustomed to this – he didn’t think he could ever get used to it – but he was certainly more skilled at finding the slippery metal with the narrow points and drawing the bullet out. Derek was trying not to, but his claws slipped into the cloth covering the seat. “I know it hurts, shit.” The bullet dropped onto the leaves and mud under his feet and Stiles flicked out the wolfsbane from the glove compartment. “Lighter?”

“Back pocket.” Derek’s teeth were gritted and he was holding onto the seat grimly. His eyes flicked red and the black lines of the poison started snaking out from the wound. Stiles worked his hand into Derek’s back pocket, snaking it between the seat and his back – his ass. He focused on the task in hand, fishing out the cheap plastic lighter and setting the small pile of wolfsbane alight before pressing the dark ash into Derek’s side. Almost immediately Derek started breathing easier, his hands coming away from the seat to rest on Stiles’s shoulders. Derek leaned close, his forehead resting on Stiles’s collarbone. 

Stiles held Derek up, his hands splayed low in Derek’s hips, feeling Derek’s shaking easing as he healed, feeling his heartbeat slow. Stiles rested his cheek against Derek’s hair. They really needed hunters to get the ‘Check in with scary Mr Argent first’ message already.

 

Stiles wasn’t in danger. He wasn’t cold. He wasn’t watching a movie. He was just lying in bed and contemplating the ceiling, his hand casually down his pants. He wasn’t jerking off, not yet. He was just thinking about it. It felt nice, holding his cock. There was a knock on his bedroom door and he scrambled up before calling out for whoever it was to enter.

Derek walked in.

“What? How?” Stiles looked at the window. 

“I used the spare key,” Derek said, tossing the discoloured metal towards Stiles. “Under the plant pot isn’t really that secure.”

“Uh huh.” Stiles had held this discussion with his father but it was his mom who’d always left the key there and tradition (and sentiment) kinda won out over complete safety. Who was going to rob the Sherriff’s house after all? “So, research?”

“No. I- I came to say. Thank you.” Derek stuffed his fists into the pockets of his leather jacket and rocked on his heels.

“Thank you. For what?” Stiles wasn’t sure what to do. He would have flung himself onto the bed if it was his dad or have got the gaming system set up if it was Scott. But all he could do was stand, kinda unsure, in the middle of his bedroom while Derek looked like he was going to come out of his skin.

“For saving my life.” It was faintly disturbing how matter of fact Derek was about it.

“Well, yeah. Ditto.” Stiles shrugged. Derek still wasn’t going away or doing anything Derek-like. Pushing him up against walls or whatever. Threatening to rip out his throat with his teeth. But Derek was shuffling closer. 

Derek brought his hands out of his pockets. “I’m going try this.” Then he stepped even closer, determined and pressed his mouth against Stiles’s. It was a kiss. It was Stiles’s first kiss that wasn’t from a close relative. And Stiles was being kissed by Derek. With tongue.

No one would blame Stiles for responding, twining his fingers in Derek’s hair to hold him close as Derek wrapped his arms around him, pulling Stiles close. Derek’s stubble rasped against his cheeks as Stiles opened his mouth wider, letting Derek kiss harder and deeper and it was all just amazingly fantastically wonderful. Stiles’s brain must have stopped working because all he could take in was the fact he was kissing and it was good.

Derek pulled back to let Stiles breath, which was very considerate of him. He didn’t let go, keeping his arms wrapped close around Stiles.

“I knew this cuddling was leading up to something!” Stiles crowed. He wasn’t letting go either, for all that he was trying to walk Derek towards his bed. This whole kissing thing would be even better lying down, Stiles was sure.

Derek stopped, unmoving, and, no matter how much Stiles tugged, just stood there. He looked like he was deep in thought.

“Or not. Cuddling is great. I like it. Hugging. Snuggling. Embracing. Squeezing tight. Clinching.” Stiles pressed back into Derek’s body and Derek kissed him, almost absent-mindedly. Stiles could feel that his attention was elsewhere. “What?”

Stiles was shocked as Derek smiled before tumbling him backwards onto his bed, crawling up to straddle Stiles’s thighs. This was indeed more like it. Derek’s soft smile – that was unexpected and entirely welcome.

“I like hugging you. Because I like you.” Derek shrugged like it was no big deal but the kiss he planted on Stiles afterwards spoke for itself.


End file.
